


Not Quite There

by idcishipit



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:16:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9170398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idcishipit/pseuds/idcishipit
Summary: At the party to celebrate the end of the war, Carolina and Wash say some too late goodbyes.





	

Carolina wouldn't admit she was a bit drunk. She suspected that Wash knew since he has eyed her earlier, but he had scampered off somewhere under her glare. 

The music vamps up and an excited, much drunker shout rises above it. Without her helmet, she can't see close enough to see who the figure standing on the speaker is until a giant shadow tries to climb up to join the other. Tucker scrambles to stay upright as Caboose wobbles the speaker back and forth. She thinks it's lucky that Chorus had found wireless speakers somewhere; it would be just like the sim troopers to kill the night with their shenanigans. 

Someone dances into Carolina's back and before she can punch them, they've apologized and disappeared in the dancing crowd. She's managed to get caught in a growing group of celebrating soldiers. Elbowing her way out, seeing several Reds along the way, she breaks outside the group. Cooler air brushes across her skin, a welcome relief from the sweaty bodies. 

"Agent Carolina!"

One of Wash's recruits slides up next to her. His hair is rusty red and plastered to his forehead, and his eyes bright. 

"You dropped this. Figured you might want it back."

She thanks him without looking at what he put in her hand. It's so familiar now she doesn't have to look. The soldier-kid- hesitates before nodding and turning away already moving his arms to the music. 

Worn corners dig into her fingers. She almost lost it. Again. She has a habit of leaving the stupid, broken lighter behind. 

Carolina drops it down her pocket and feels the weight drag her pants down a little. She doesn't think it's heavy enough for all the memories it holds now. A bottle of something sits on the makeshift bar. She doesn't think twice about swiping it: it's alcohol; it'll have to do for tonight. 

It burns her throat but she doesn't cough it back up. On the edge of the crowd, she twirls the bottle in circles by its neck watching people dance and celebrate the end of the war. Wars. Not everyone was there. A good number of them were out drinking at the pond or spending the night in their rooms toasting to those long gone. 

The liquid swirls around the glass a few more times before she decides the party isn't for her. With another swing of the bottle she heads to the edge of the trees far from the dancers until the music is a slight tremor in the air. 

Carolina wanders the tree line until she kneels next to one with dark dirt at its roots and green leaves at the top of its trunk. A distant part of her knows she'll berate herself in the morning for going out alone without protection, but she shuts it down. Tonight is for her. Them. 

Dirt catches in her fingernails as she scrapes it away until she can see where the tree roots connect to form the trunk. She carefully separates the raw roots to form a type of bowl. She makes the same bowl just to the left of it. 

With dirty hands she pulls York's lighter from her pocket and lifts the chain from around her shirt. Her nails scratch against her neck and dirt crumbles off her hands to fall down her shirt but she doesn't care. The chip catches on her nose before it's over her head and in her hand. 

Epsilon's chip is a quarter the size of York's lighter and they weigh the same. She tucks the lighter in the right grave and the chip in the left.  The soft dirt presses against her palm as she's about to push it. A soft footfall breaks through her thoughts. 

Wash was never the stealthiest of the team. He had improved greatly but she can't help twitch her lips: he wasn't so good that he could get away from her. 

Without moving she says, "Come to join my party?"

A shadow falls over Epsilon's chip as Wash kneels next to her. "I'd feel bad if no one showed up."

Carolina sits back on her feet and cradles her hands in her lap. Part of her knew Wash would find her, but she wanted to do this alone, she had to. It was her debt to pay. 

"You don't have to get rid of them, y'know?," Wash nods toward the lighter and chip, "People keep things like that."

Of course they do, she wants to snap but she can't get the words out. Wash was awkward and just trying to help. The metal of the lighter glints from the overhanging lights. She knew people kept mementos of their loved ones, but this wasn't about that. They wouldn't help her remember their faces or their voices. All the pieces of plastic and metal were pathetic echoes of who they were. They weren't voices or laughter or sarcasm or touch. 

She sucks in a sharp breath at the sudden tightness in her chest. Wash stares at her before his mouth thins in understanding. 

They're the only ones left. 

She's known this for years. Longer than a decade but it squeezes her heart so every beat hurts. She and Wash were it. They were the only ones to remember late night poker games and silly straws and bitching about holographic locks. Only two people in the entire world, universe, remembered them. 

The Reds and remaining Blues knew about Freelancer, but they didn't know. Wash and her were left. They were the remnants. Everyone they knew and cared for from the project were dead. Epsilon, York, North, South, Maine, Connie, Tex, Wyoming, Florida, Eta, Iota, all the other fragments. The only fragments left of the project were two traumatized thirty year olds. 

"Don't isolate yourself. It doesn't work. Please talk to them. You need them too." Epsilon had spoken in her head a thousand times and his message will run its course but even his voice will eventually fade, be forgotten to the well of time. 

He was her only teammate left. She wanted to be honest so she climbed past the decades old wall.

"We're the only ones left, Wash."

He plays with his fingertips, "I know." 

Wash falls silent and Carolina doesn't say anything. 

"I'm sorry," Wash blurts out. Carolina starts and looks at him. What does he have to be sorry for? She'd never blamed him. "I wish we could've had a proper funeral for York. I-I blew up his armor. And Epsilon... I know I avoided him sometimes and it made you mad. But they were still my teammates too."

She wants to look away from his eyes but she can't. His big eyes and fluffy hair makes him look like a kid whose face has grown older before the rest of him. She really had forgotten that he and Epsilon were close before the pull despite not being a match. 

"You were a better person than me, Wash. The last time I saw York, he was unconscious because I kicked him in the head." She downs more drink before holding it out to him. 

He doesn't take nor does he break eye contact. "That wasn't your fault."

She tries to ignore the sting in her throat that isn't from the alcohol. "He tried to explain things to me and I didn't listen."

"He understood."

She can't help but laugh. "Epsilon played me some old logs once. Agent Foxtrot12 logs," she catches a shadow of a smile on his face. "He kept hearing reports and he thought it was me. Then he found out it was Tex. You know what he said? 'I know why she did what she did. I just wish she hadn't.'

"He died thinking I was dead, and that I died not trusting him."

The regret was the worst part. It was a worm that twisted in her gut and strangled her throat when she paid attention to it, let it consume her. 

Because no matter how many times one of her training sessions saved a life or how many planets she saves, it will never make things right between her and York, or Epsilon. Ever. It was too late for words and goodbyes. 

The music flares behind them. A song passes before Wash sucks in a breath. "You guys kept it pretty quiet, but we all shared that hallway and locker room, Carolina. I don't think an argument could change that."

She's not quite sure, so she simply nods.

The lighter, tarnished but basically the same as when she stole from him at the nightclub, mirrors the dirt she pushes on it. Wash watches silently as she pushes and pats it smooth. 

Carolina doesn't know how he knew but he pulls out two rocks and his knife. Wash scratches the blade across each stone. York, Delta, and Epsilon are etched into the stones that he places at the top of each grave.

They quietly push soil over Epsilon's chip, music playing distantly. 


End file.
